Wednesday, October 19, 2005

Oh no you di'nt!

I buzzed my head again.

I do this every year right around this time. People always ask me why I don't do it at the beginning of summer and I never really have a good reason. I just get bored with having long hair and having to make sure I don't have a huge freakin' cowlick sticking out the back of my head, which happens perpetually.

My sister came over for dinner on Saturday just a couple of hours after I dropped it down... she said I looked like I was going to kick some ass. Papa Bear said that he was glad to see I was ushering the "military look" back into fashion. And a couple of people I work with said it made me look older. Word.=====The Boy Who Lived...

The only downside to this haircut is the fact I've got an inch-long scar on the back of my head on the right hand side. People always notice this (usually they attempt to gently inform me that the barber screwed the pooch) and when I tell them that it's a scar, they always ask why...

Depending on the mood, I'll switch up the reason why... some of which are:

Or I'll just be straight with them and tell them the real reason why... when I was three years old, my mom was driving my brother, Robert, and I home from the doctor's office. Robert had an ear infection (one of the hundreds he had when he was a kid), and I was along for the ride. As my brother slept beside me in the back seat, I managed to houdini my way out of my car seat and climb into the front seat to sit shotgun as my mom turned into our subdivision.

Getting out of the car seat wasn't enough, I guess, because I started messing with the knobs and buttons in the front seat. I reached over and pulled the door handle (which was usually locked) and all the sudden the door flew open and out the car I went. My mom had fortunately just turned into our subdivision and was going no more than 20 miles per hour. But I flew out and hit my head on the concrete curb, splitting the back of my head open.

Explains a lot, right?

I ended up with a severe concussion, 17 stitches, and a completely guilt-ridden mother who sat with me that entire night and made sure I didn't fall asleep (supposedly if you fall asleep after a concussion, there's a high chance of entering a coma). I never told her how much I appreciate what she did for me that night or how sorry I am for worring her... But I'll make it a point to when I see her tomorrow night.

Oddly enough, I now live a block away from that spot, and every time I drive pass, I still get the chills.